The Eyes of a Child
by Earendil Eldar
Summary: Companion piece to The Eyes of the Eldar. The youngest of the Hurin family finds out the nature of Mortality. It's extremely sad... my apologies! Oneshot.


Just a little something i knocked out today while i ought to have been "working!" This piece is meant to go along with _Eyes of the Eldar_, just as there were comparative pieces with the _Stormy Night..._ stories.

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In the "King's House" in the Citadel of Minas Tirith, a young boy of only just five years lays awake in his big, lavish, stately, and lonely bedchamber. Alone in the dark night, Faramir can see shadows cast across his room by the moonlight. That window also boasts a broad view of the Anduin River and, beyond, the Black Mountains, and combined with the lunar-cast shadows, the scene can wreak havoc on a young child's imagination. Only adding fuel to the fire is the fact that one impressionable child just happened to overhear his big, brave older brother talking to one of his friends about the horrid and foul things that come out of Mordor, just behind those dark, forbidding mountains across the river.

Faramir was certain, absolutely sure, that he could see some monster over there by the door that connected his chambers to those of his brother. It had to be a clever monster, this, because it stood just where his bookcase was and to glance over there, anyone might think there was really only a bookcase there. Faramir was not one to be fooled by such tricks though.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Faramir inched his way to the further end of the bed and slipped out, careful not to fall down to the floor as it was such a high drop for one so small. He had to be quick, quiet, and careful. This operation was all about stealth. Faramir crept around to the front of the bed and stopped just at the edge. He peered back cautiously, but the "shadow" did not seem to be looking his way anymore, still focused intently on the bed he had only just escaped. Faramir took a deep breath and steeled his nerve. Crouching, he gathered up a burst of energy and shot toward to the door, pulling it open on his own (which he usually had a little difficulty doing, it being so heavy), and raced down the hallway and around the corner to where the "ladies" hallway was.

Faramir looked back to make sure he wasn't being followed and then pushed open the door to his nana's bedchamber. Faramir loved his big brother dearly and hated the knowledge that that Boromir was sleeping on just the other side of the door from that monster, but Bori' could protect himself, he was bigger and stronger and already rather advanced at swordplay. His nana, on the other hand, needed to be protected at all costs. She had not been feeling well of late, but Faramir had overheard the healer's saying that it was "only a matter of time," and so surely that meant that she would be feeling well again soon.

He remembered last winter when he'd been fevered by the grippe and had to stay abed for almost a week. His brother had not been permitted to visit him for fear that he would also become ill, but Boromir had secretly sneaked in anyway each night. He hadn't exactly "cared for" his little brother, being as he really didn't know just how to do that, but he would climb up upon the overly spacious bed and they would talk in whispers, Boromir always finding some way of making his little brother giggle at some silly thing. Then Boromir would hug the smaller child and kiss his fevered brow and bid him to be well again as soon as he could manage it. Faramir would smile and whisper back that the healer said that, in this case, "Time will be the best healer." And Boromir's response, each night, was that "he'd best get even better than best," for that was his little brother they were talking about, Boromir's assertion underlined by the way he grasped the hilt of his little wooden sword as if to throw his weight around with Old Father Time.

Now Faramir slipped into his nana's chambers and looked around. There were no shadow monsters here, for the candle on mumma's nightstand was still burning. Lady Finduilas was in her bed, curled on her side, with a book open before her. Faramir wondered that his mumma was still awake and reading, clearly she didn't know about the monster loose in the Citadel, for she seemed so relaxed.

"Nana," Faramir whispered fearfully, not wanting to alarm her, yet knowing that he needed to get her to safety, quickly. "There's something in my chamber, nana… I think it's a orc! I mean _an_ orc," he corrected himself quickly. Fear was hardly an excuse for poor grammar! "Nana, come on, we have to get out of here!" Faramir was pressing all his weight against the door, just in case the orc tried to get in, but his mumma didn't seem to notice, she just kept reading. Maybe she didn't hear, Faramir thought, and hurried over to the bed, reaching up to her. The book slipped to the floor when Faramir's arm brushed it, and Finduilas's head lolled, her body slipping forward limply.

"Nana, there's an orc!" Faramir whispered, his voice strained by fear. Not only was there an orc in the house, but his mumma wasn't paying any attention to him at all. She never, ever did that, not like his father would when he "couldn't be bothered." Even when nana was really busy, or tired, whenever her boys needed her, she always set aside a few moments to lift them up, give them a hug, dry a tear, kiss a scratch, sing them to sleep, or even simply smile and tell them that she loved them, always.

A thought surfaced in Faramir's mind from that same chat he had overheard (in honesty, he was eavesdropping – though he only wanted to hear what his brother would say, for Faramir wanted to know _everything_ that Boromir knew!) Boromir was trying to impress his friend by talking about what it was like on the field of battle (as though he actually knew, Boromir's biggest military experience so far had been a visit to the soldier's buttery for lunch with his sword master) and Boromir said that all around one saw those slain heroes, with their eyes still open, as if they were still looking out for their companions.

Faramir just stood there for a moment, looking up at his beautiful nana's face in the candlelight. He reached up and grabbed her hand and shook, trying to wake her up. "Nana!" the child cried, his voice breaking, "we have to get out of here. Nana… nana… please! Wake up!" Finduilas gave no response at all though. For the second time that night, Faramir gathered up what courage he had and climbed up on her bed. He put his ear to her heart, like the healers did and listened for a soft thumping sound the Master Healer had explained about to Faramir. He could hear nothing but his own labored breathing though. Faramir tried again to shake his nana and wake her up, but in vain.

That was it, then. Faramir suddenly knew that he had to face _death_ even though he did not truly understand what that meant. Since he had been told that his grandfather had died not long after his birth and he had never met the man, he gathered that _death_ was something that took someone away and they were not to come back and visit. It couldn't be though, for mumma was still right there, nana hadn't gone anywhere. But her eyes were open and she wasn't responding or waking up. Faramir was now scared and confused and upset and frustrated and everything all at once! There was only one thing he could think to do: find Boromir and that orc would just have to leave him alone, for this was extremely important!

Faramir crawled down from his mumma's bed, kissing her lifeless hand and promising that he would be right back with Boromir and that he would make everything better again. Faramir didn't make such a good dismount as he did from his own bed and slipped, falling to the fall. His eyes were already full of tears, but he refused to cry. He was on a mission, he had to get Boromir right away, he had no time for childish things such as tears!

Faramir ran full pelt straight back to their hallway and burst through Boromir's door, launching himself at his brother's bed. "Get up, Bori'! Mumma needs us, hurry!" he whispered as loud as he dared.

"Far', c'mon, go 'way, it's nighttime, no time for games," Boromir grumbled, rolling over.

"Boromir, now!" he insisted, shaking his brother's shoulders as fiercely as a five-year-old can shake a ten-year-old.

"No, Faramir! Go back to sleep," Boromir said firmly.

Faramir gave a short keening cry, how could his brother not understand his urgency? "She needs us," he whimpered, so terribly afraid. "She's sick, Bori', and i… I think she's… dying."

Suddenly Boromir sat up, glaring at Faramir. "What did you say?" he demanding, sounding angry.

"I think she's dying," Faramir said, sobbing now as some instinctive insight flooded him.

Boromir grabbed Faramir's arm tightly and looking right into his eyes, said in a low tone, "that is not a joking matter, Faramir. I don't want to hear such a thing from you again."

"Boromir…," Faramir mewled in terror, "do something, please!" The child broke down completely. "Her eyes were open! I saw it, Boromir, you have to do something!"

Boromir now stiffened with fear. "Faramir…," he said carefully, "do you swear on all of your honor as a man of the House of Hurin that you are not lying?"

"I swear it!" Faramir whispered hoarsely, unable to speak much more.

"Oh, gods…," Boromir whispered. He remembered his grandfather's death and a sick feeling began to rise within him. Boromir moved around his little brother and bolted from the room.

Faramir wasn't really sure if he should follow his brother or not, but he wasn't about to stay there, with that orc on the other side of the door and…. Then it occurred to him that that orc could have gotten to his nana when he went for Boromir. Oh, why had he left her there alone and unguarded and maybe even dying! Faramir ran out into the hallway toward his mumma's rooms but was stopped by a guard who had been roused by the sound of two young boys running about the halls in the night.

"Where are you off to at this hour, young Master Faramir? Ought you not be abed?" the guard inquired seriously, though with a kindly sparkle in his eye. He remembered his own children when they were so restless.

For a moment Faramir didn't know what to say. He didn't like to "answer back" to the guards, but… mumma and Boromir! "It's my mumma…" he started to explain, but didn't get very far before he just fell apart. The guard couldn't decipher just what the boy was trying to get across, but he caught the words orc and dying clearly enough and wasted no time lifting the younger son of the Steward into his arms and getting to the Lady Finduilas's chamber. Another passing guard was sent to fetch the Steward and turn out the guard, for though it was most likely just the child's imagination, the word "orc" was not taken lightly anywhere in the realms of Arda.

The guard knocked gently at the door to the Lady's bedchamber, but received no response. He set Faramir down and opened the door slowly, half afraid of what he would encounter. There by the Lady's bedside was the young heir, kneeling, clutching his mumma's hand, his face buried against the rich bedding, weeping his heart out. The guard took instant sympathy for these two children – regardless of _whose_ children they were, they were still children – and bowed his head low.

Faramir ran over to his brother, only the faintest hope left in him. It was snuffed out altogether when he saw his brother's expression. He knelt resignedly next to Boromir, tears streaming down his reddened face and Boromir hugged him so tightly he thought he would suffocate. "But… she's still here…" Faramir choked out, trying to convince himself when he knew better. Boromir only held his little brother tighter.

It was to this scene that the Steward arrived, still pulling his robes of office around himself, for clearly there had been no time to wake his valet. Denethor froze, robes slipping away and pooling about him on the floor. He was sure his heart had stopped and he clasped a hand over his mouth to prevent from screaming. No, his heart clearly hadn't stopped, that would have been too merciful. Instead it was utterly shattered, but kept right on pounding. His two children hadn't noticed him, small wonder, and in that moment, Denethor felt all of the weakness he had never even once displayed since he was old enough to comprehend behavior, about the age of 3.

No, this could not have been called a shock, for Finduilas had been fading away from him for months, years if truth be told. Denethor bit down on his clenched fist as he sobbed silently, trying so hard to stop himself. His boys needed him to be strong so that they could learn that death was a part of life that must be dealt with rationally. He would have to send for Prince Imrahil at once, the man had only just been to visit his sister two months ago and Denethor realized that, in all likelihood, he would have to bear the man's wrath, for Imrahil had wanted to take his sister home with him when he departed. He insisted that the sea could help her, but Denethor would not have any of that Elf-like non-sense, the healers in Minas Tirith were more than competent enough to see her through.

How could they allow this to happen? Not the healers, no, they were but Men as well. It was the gods who had done this to him! They despised Men and layered nothing but misery upon the highest leader available at the moment. Now they had taken the very light from out of his sky. She was gone because they had bid it so! They never did such things to Elves, no, but Men!

Denethor knew he was defeated though. If the Valar sought to destroy him, they would, and nothing he could do would make any difference. He just stood there now, looking at Finduilas's body lying at the edge of her bed. He had been defeated and, though he excelled as a soldier in his younger days and kept his realm safe from untold horrors, he could not do anything for his wife.

By this time, several soldiers had gotten word and came to their Lady's chamber. One of the Steward's personal guards stepped beside him, bowed briefly, though Denethor did not notice, and said softly, "tell me what I may do, sire?"

"Just leave us, Baldor," the Steward said, his voice rough, quiet, and terribly weary. At once the gathered guards were silently directed to leave and keep the hall undisturbed.

Boromir looked up when he heard his father's voice, trying desperately to stay his tears, but seeing his father's own tears told him he needn't bother.

"Oh, my sons…," Denethor wept. "You should not bear this!"

Still, Boromir attempted to be brave as he held onto his little brother. "He wept until he fell asleep, father," Boromir said, losing his own voice. Denethor, however, was beyond response or reaction.

Faramir slept in his brother's arms of absolute exhaustion. He knew he was safe with Boromir, no matter what, and even in his sleep could still feel arms around him. As he glanced up, though, he found that the arms encircling him were now those of a woman, clad in a deep, rich blue. The child looked up to her face and was awed. She was so beautiful, almost more beautiful than mumma even, with a lapis tear-drop bound to her brow. But she was so sad, she had been crying as well, maybe she knew mumma, too. Faramir felt comfortable enough to hold tightly to this woman and he felt calmed when she wrapped her arms softly around him and stroked his head.

"_Esto, pen-neth, edan_," she whispered in a gentle, deep, ageless voice. "Not all tears are an ill thing, child. As long as you let them come, they will free your heart and ease your pain. Death is a gift granted to Mortal Men, and not so terrible after all; you will know this one day. One will soon come who can explain much to you, listen to his words, for he is wise and you shall learn much from him. Be at ease, little one, for my younger brother shall watch after you as my elder brother now watches after your naneth."

When Faramir woke he was in his brother's room and though Boromir was in bed beside him, he was clearly still awake, sniffling and blinking as the tears slipped from his reddened eyes.

"Bori'," Faramir said, wrapping his arms around his brother, sensing he dearly needed the comfort that had just been bestowed upon himself, "it'll all be all right, in the end."

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_Esto, pen-neth, edan -_ Rest, little one, mortal

_naneth - _mother

Anyone know who it was thatspoke to Faramir?


End file.
